


A Promise Of Dawn

by rekishi



Category: Coldfire - Friedman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Forest had burned, when the Keep had been demolished and the army had left, Damien had been the one to remain standing before the ashes and contemplate his life from there on out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carmenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/gifts).



> A treat, because there are never enough fixits.

Damien Vryce knew he should keep watch outside. On the other hand, he hadn't seen a single soul in days, no one dared come near the Forest and its ashes yet. Mankind would eventually claim the area but for the moment the memory of cruelty and terror that the Hunter had inspired still lingered in people's hearts and heads and not even the all powerful Church of Human Unification could change anything about that. The stink of smoke that still lay over everything like a blanket did its own to discourage any further forays.

So instead, the former priest was sitting in a tunnel, only illuminated by the faint glow of a hooded lantern and watched Gerald Tarrant's relaxed face in sleep. He never would have thought the day would come he would see this, utter relaxation, the chest slowly rising and falling with each breath, a little color in the pale face. He thought Gerald dead, gone for good, doomed to be judged by God without the chance to redeem himself. Yet here the man was, lying right next to him sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted.

When the Forest had burned, when the Keep had been demolished and the army had left, Damien had been the one to remain standing before the ashes and contemplate his life from there on out. Those ashes seemed to be significant enough; he had never expected to be alive still, much less to be able to think about a life after Calesta. He had shed tears for Gerald and he knew that it wasn't only because he had felt his death once before, knew what death felt like. This had been Gerald Tarrant, Neocount of Merentha, Prophet of Damien's own Faith, Knight Premier of his Order and as far as Damien was concerned, more than just a friend, although he would have denied even that much until just days ago.

Tarrant had ultimately died for his sins, so Damien thought. But he had died while trying to save his accumulated knowledge and that was something profoundly admirable. Gerald had been nothing if not determined. So Damien had gone back and entered the dark tunnels again, after stocking up on food and water, wanting to try to save maybe a few scraps of those books. The workroom had been beneath the actual Keep, well protected by wards that must have snapped back into action after admitting Andrys and by the sheer physical presence of stone. Maybe he could salvage some of them, give them to someone who would at least work in the same sentiment. Maybe he could contact Ciani and talk her into picking up where Gerald would have.

Ciani had always liked and appreciated Gerald more than he had. Or than she did him.

Damien had not expected to find piles of books in the dark, some of them wrapped in pieces of canvas or neatly stored in packs before the entrance to the room with the torture appliances. Even less, he had expected to find Gerald Tarrant himself, unconscious on the floor just few feet away from those piles, clearly on the way back towards the workroom. "Gerald," he had whispered and hurried forward. He had no idea how this was possible, because the man clearly still had his head on his shoulders, but right then he pushed that particular question back in his mind.

Gerald was completely unresponsive, his heartbeat quick and faint, his breathing too fast and shallow. "Gerald you bastard, I didn't Heal your heart just so you could go around and damage yourself when I turn my back," he growled and got out one of his canteens. Of course, Tarrant wouldn't eat or drink. There hadn't been a need for mundane things like that for over nine centuries and a few mere days with Damien reminding him to certainly wasn't enough to get back into the habit.

Turning the man on his back and elevating his head hadn't been easy, in the dim light of the lantern, because if he had any more problems than being dehydrated and undernourished there now was no way to Heal him anymore. Eventually though, Damien had been able to make him drink a few sips at a time over what felt like forever but was more likely no more than an hour or two, until Gerald had stirred and started to open his eyes.

"You came back," Gerald croaked, voice rough and he tried to clear his throat repeatedly.

"And you almost killed yourself and made all my precious effort undone," Damien had growled back and handed the canteen over so the man could drink by himself. Someone like Gerald certainly wouldn't appreciate being fed if he could do it on his own, so Damien sat back against the wall, not far enough to be out of the light but certainly with a little distance to the other man. There were things they had to talk about. Silently, he also handed over some of the food supply.

He would have to restock, if he now was feeding two again once more.

Gerald was sensible, not gorging down food or water in such quantities that it would make him sick, but pacing himself. On the other hand, Damien couldn't imagine what Gerald would look like gorging down food, his pride probably didn't allow for it.

Smeared and rumpled silks, abrasions on his hands, probably hematoma from where he had fallen and yet his posture was still conveying the same arrogance, the same pride as it had when he had lived his unlife, with as much control of the fae as he wished. Damien had moments when he was nothing short of fascinated by his companion.

"How did you do it?" he finally asked, not being able to stand his own curiosity anymore. It had been Gerald's head that Andrys was carrying. He was sure of that.

Tarrant looked up with a surprised expression. "One book at a time, Vryce, how else? It didn't take nearly as long as you might be suspecting."

"Not what I meant. The destruction of the keep. Your-"

"These rooms have stood for over five hundred years, Vryce. There are wards and fallbacks in place that Andrys would not possibly have been able to dismantle had he had the slightest idea what he was actually doing, rather than acting as a pawn."

Damien told him then. About the gruesome sight of Andrys carrying out the Hunter's head.

A few thoughtful seconds followed. "I don't know what he did. When I had sent you out he came towards me but stopped short. Slashed at thin air with that ridiculous sword, took that thin air in hand and left. I had no time to think about what happened, I had to get to work on my books before anyone else might follow."

Later they had discussed this again. An illusion maybe. Nothing Gerald had Worked.

"Maybe it was he himself," the former Hunter had proposed. "Maybe he was so convinced of actually killing me that it somehow became material, for him and everyone who saw him. With the fae un-Workable I don't know how he did it, though. Or maybe someone intervened." Or some_thing_, was the unspoken addition that was all the louder for remaining unsaid.

Damien hadn't argued. It was no use and right now there were more pressing matters. Food. Water untainted by ash and toxins. Convincing Gerald he couldn't possibly take all those books around with him.

Food and water turned out to be less of a problem. While Damien was known in the outlying towns to have consorted with the Hunter in previous years, he also was the man who had made the Patriarch's Sacrifice possible in the first place, making Erna a safer place to live. He was recognized for that and people took his coin willingly.

"You look like someone notched your favorite sword," Gerald's tone was mocking as he sat up and reached for a canteen of water.

"Just remembering," Damien shook his head to get rid of those memories. The sight of Andrys was still haunting his sleep.

He felt a long look thrown his way but thankfully the other man did not comment on it. Instead he pulled a pack close and took out foodstuffs. "So what are you planning now?"

"If you're serious about finding a means of translation between the Mother of the Iezu and humans, I suppose first we need to find a place where it's possible to review all these books. We certainly can't stay in these tunnels forever." Damien rubbed at his eyes. "That will require money though and a place where you are not known by sight. Both is in short supply right now, especially with Andrys-"

The former Hunter cut him off. "'We'? You don't suppose you will keep following me around, do you?"

This time he did look up and meet those familiar yet strange eyes. "Gerald, you almost perished two days ago because you forgot you're mortal now and need essentials like food and water. Frankly, I do think you need a keeper and I have my doubts that Karril would be too happy if you employed him as your maid."

"Oh and you would be?"

"Two sets of eyes are better than one for sifting through that shit pile of information you have gathered here. And I at least have a sword, if someone puts two and two together and decides to start a hunt."

The steady gaze on him narrowed. "You think I'll strike another deal."

"Can you tell with absolute certainty that you won't?" Damien would probably never admit it to anyone, but with everything they had been through, if he could have gotten the channel between them back there and then he would have gladly accepted it. If he was honest with himself he would have to admit that he was worried Gerald would take the dark path, or something similar, again now that he was a man and able to die once more. While he had faced death more times than they both dared to count, and not just in the past couple of days, Gerald wanted to see mankind reach for the stars in his lifetime and nothing would stop him from trying.

Something like a snort sounded from his companion. "If anyone needs a keeper, Vryce, it's you."

"Oh and who rescued who from Hell, bartering with the Unnamed?"

"Need I remind you who slipped you a knife in the eastern lands?"

"I broke you loose from crystalline bonds that would have held you there to be roasted alive."

"Again."

"After I pulled you from a fire once already."

"Manipulated me into being willing to sacrifice myself to a live volcano," Tarrant glowered, lips pressed into a thin line. "And it was you who got me into that mess with Hell to begin with."

"Oh now it's my fault. I felt you die, Gerald, don't assume it was a sensation I wish to repeat when I know I have to keep living. Twice." He was tired and angry and as far as he was concerned, rightfully frightened. Gerald would do whatever he could to cheat death as many times as was humanly possible. Or unhumanly, as he had done before.

Silence crept between them for several minutes until the other man finally packed the food and water away again and began to rise to turn to his books. "Money is not a problem."

"Andrys-"

"Is a child. And an ignorant one at that. He might now claim the title of Neocount, as the last of the line left to everyone's knowledge, but that doesn't mean he _knows_ anything at all. That title and the official holdings of the Tarrant domain, even the Forest, are but a fraction available to me." It was beyond obvious that Gerald didn't like to talk of his descendant, which wasn't surprising. From what little he had seen but the multitude he had heard of him, Andrys Tarrant hadn't struck Damien as the most splendid man the Tarrant family had ever produced. Almost perpetually drunk, a gambler, a womanizer and living off his inheritance left to him by the tragic death of everyone else in his family. Damien would of course never approve of the ways Gerald had handled his family affairs, but whyever he had left Andrys alive would remain an eternal mystery to him. _"Policy,"_ Gerald would later say when he brought up the topic. _"I could not very well deter from my long-standing policy, could I?"_

"I still don't-"

The man formerly known as the Hunter was obviously impatient, for he shouldered the first pack of books to move it outside, seemingly rested enough to think about traveling again. "When we first met, what did you assume I was?"

"Suspicious. When I found out you wore the Hunter's sigil, it was implied you were one of his servants."

"Not many people know or knew the Prophet's name, no one has seen the Hunter face to face and lived to tell of it, save the few people who have presumingly seen a severed head. I was save in that guise and I still am. There were hints strewn that the Hunter's servants were not doing their tasks quite willingly, so as now freed from that bane, I can move around freely." He was handed one of the book packages as well and had no choice but to follow his companion. "There are resources available to me."

Paper was heavy and it dragged even Damien down a little. He wondered how Gerald, who certainly wasn't weak but slighter than Damien's bulky frame, managed to take long strides at the same time. He seriously wondered how they were supposed to move the fifteen or so more packs that were still waiting in the tunnel. And these could only be the mere essentials of the ex-Neocount's collection, barely a fraction of the accumulated knowledge.

"Gerald, how were you planning on getting all this moved?"

The other man turned around with an almost-smile on his lips.

***

"How could you have a whole herd of horses and no one knew?" Damien stared at the milling animals right in front of him. They had hiked to the feet to the Northern Dividers, where not even the settlers around the Forest had ever arrived at. Here, kept in place by nothing but an inconspicuous wooden fence, resided at least a hundred of the animals, all of them bigger than their compatriots owned by regular humans, most of them with gleaming black coats and not looking too friendly.

Gerald regarded him sideways with the slightest bit of contempt. He had taken the hike to this pasture much better than the one from Shaitan to the Keep. Then again, this time he hadn't just survived a heart attack and a forced Healing. "Rule of thumb on Earth was you need at least a hundred breeding pairs to ensure a healthy population. On Erna, you can take that rule by half, due to the influence of the fae which erase a lot of disadvantageous outcomes. Still, you need a certain number to ensure continued offsprings with one stallion to two to three mares. Where did you think my stock in the stables came from, thin air?"

They had no saddles, no tack, just several pieces of rope and the blankets Damien had acquired in Sheva, prior to them setting out. They would have to take it bareback until they managed to buy the proper equipment. Most of the rope would have to be used to secure the books, stored away now in a special cavern hidden from obvious sight, on the horses which would be designated as packing animals.

Damien hated him.

***

Mordreth. Kale. Iyama. And finally Jaggonath.

Damien wasn't too happy with Gerald's choice of their main residence, would have rather seen them well past the Dividers and in the Western Autarchy by now, partly due to the big Church community, partly because Merentha wasn't far and both of them were in constant danger of recognition. On the other hand, the former Hunter's reasoning was sound; Jaggonath was the biggest city in the east, they would be less visible because of that and it was where the biggest concentration of Iezu could be found. And as for detection, as Gerald was not getting tired of pointing out, "Damien, I may not be able to Work, but that doesn't mean that I can't _See_, I am certainly not Blind."

It was driving the man mad. Or it would have, had there not been work that needed doing. There were many a days when he got out of bed, went into his study and didn't return until late at night. Damien knew by now to stock up plenty on beverages for such days, as especially beer had a tendency to vanish from the icebox ever since they had mostly settled down in the city. Out of the five years since Calesta's destruction, their time had been divided between traveling the different places where Iezu had established their temples or settled among humans, three in the city doing on site research with the salvaged books or the local Iezu. Karril had mainly acted as a go-between and made introductions with the more friendly ones, acted as backup with the ones who were less so.

Damien was picking up work as a bodyguard between their travels every now and then, as he was valued by Church officials and didn't fancy total financial dependence on Gerald. The new Patriarch also had inquired if he was possibly willing to head another expedition to make contact with the Eastern brethren but he had declined outright. They both had taken enough chances the first time and now there was no worked Coldfire sword to save them from a storm.

Returning to Shaitan was next on their travel agenda.

Right now though, both of them were going through more of the notebooks together. Gerald had asked him to take a look, had marked pages he thought might be of use when compared with the notes they had taken talking with the Iezu. Or Damien had taken, while Gerald had asked questions. Damien couldn't shake the feeling he was being degraded to nothing more than a secretary these days. Granted, a secretary who was arguing with the man he worked with daily and had murderous intentions at least twice a week.

The same probably applied to Gerald, if his regularly drawn sword was an indication.

Damien had found his long term traveling companion to be a terrific swordsman and more than a match for himself. Sparring left them breathing hard and exhausted but at least not in danger of killing one another during the next couple of days over something trivial like the need for another bathing appliance. He would have thought it ridiculous if he had been dealing with anyone else. 

"I've been wondering," he now frowned down at a page. _Adept perceptions during True Night, case studies_ was written there and at least seven interviews with different Adepts followed. "You once told me that most Adepts born are going mad because they can't deal with what they're seeing and doing, that's why there are only so few adult ones. On the other hand, Adepts seem to be appearing at random, right? It's not related to the parents? None of your children had that gift, correct?"

Gerald's look was dark as he gazed up. There were very slight lines around his eyes now, although he was mostly unchanged, despite his now shorter hair. "That was never quite proven. And no. Why do you ask?"

"Question is, has the ratio of Adepts not going mad increased since the fae became un-Workable? Even if those children still See the fae, they can't affect them by accident anymore, right? What do you mean, it has never been proven? What about you-"

"My children are not of interest here, Vryce." He sat back from the book he had been pondering and his eyes turned thoughtful. "We don't know how or when Adeptitude was first introduced to humans to start with, so we can't draw any kind of lineage. Our ancestors, Before and After Sacrifice, affected the currents and were in turn affected by them. It could be that the first Adept was born into the first generation which procreated on this planet. Or it could be it was only in the third or fifth or even later. I know I was one of the first to survive to adulthood without going insane. But I can't tell you if I was maybe distantly related to any of my Adept-cohorts or to those who came before.

"The gift is rarely passed on, which is true. But we can't exclude that it is a parent-and-child transmission after all. There are no children that have ever been conceived between two Adepts."

Damien rose both eyebrows. "How's that?"

A smile answered him. Gerald did that more often these days. "Adepts are highly territorial, they don't really get along with each other."

"You and Ciani seemed to do fine."

"Because she wasn't herself at the time. Her gift was gone, after all. And it doesn't normally work."

"How do you know that? Your wife-"

A sharp look. Gerald didn't like talking about his family, neither of Almea and his children nor of Andrys and his wife Narilka. Damien fell silent. "I have experimented some. A little over two hundred years ago I tried to mate two Adepts to see if maybe the gift was passed on if both parents had it. I tried to set the mood, studied the few leftover literature scraps from Earth that dealt with romance and the wooing of the other sex but  nothing worked. I left the notebook dealing with that disaster behind at the Keep. I remember it being a rather frustrating and fruitless exercise. Those two fought so bad, they almost killed each other." That sharp look had turned distant, northwards out of the window towards where, beyond the Strait, was Jahanna, now developing into a sprawling and splendid town, formerly the Forest. Mankind had claimed the place previously feared for its deathly hazard.

Damien's jaw had dropped open in disbelief but now he was slowly closing his mouth again. He had known the other man long enough to know he had not only once dabbled in human experiments but that had been unexpected. The Hunter involved in the creation of life. Then again, it had almost been death for the two Adepts, so maybe not so unlike his former self after all. "What does that say about the Adepts that are born today though? Or at least, since then?"

A shake of head was his only answer for a while. "I don't know yet. We will have to see when they grow older. Insanity caused by fae only gets obvious later, unless the children die in infancy. It's not as easy as the Patriarch or even your self might have imagined. We are evolving, ever so slowly but with certainty. So are the currents because now we live with them as are the other animals on this plant, as are the rakh. We evolved them, after a fashion, now we are kindred in the dependency on the energies of the fae taking care of us. On the other hand-" He stopped short, frowned, looked at his hand. "Damien, do you remember how to See?"

He meant the keys, the phrases needed for an non-Adept sorcerer to Work with the fae. Damien nodded; he couldn't forget them, no matter how disused that knowledge. "Use them. Look at my hand." Sudden energy surged into Damien, but not as he was used to from Working. This was more like the times when Tarrant had used the channel linking them for one thing or other. (_"Maybe even beyond death,"_ Gerald had said.) The connection between them flared back to life, but not powered by the need for nourishment this time. This was different. Purer. More powerful, deeper.

Damien stared, first at the man's face, then at his hand.

Gold and silver threats were dropping, flowing from the digits as they moved. Sluggish, slow fae currents suffused everything. "I can Work," Damien whispered, fascinated.

"No," Gerald answered just as quietly, "but you can See. And at some point, I will be able to Work again, and so might you. The currents, even after earthquakes, are not deadly anymore. The Iezu can handle them in their own ways. Between them and us, we might finally be able to establish communication after all.

"Damien, I plan to see the edge of this galaxy, not just its Core. There will be a way, I remain convinced. For me, for you and everyone else who wishes so. We will surpass our Terran ancestors. I dare promise you as much."

  
\- The End -


End file.
